


Fistiana

by YesIsAWorld



Category: Louis Tomlinson (Musician), One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Bare Knuckle Boxing, Boxer Louis Tomlinson, Boxer Zayn Malik, Boxers, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Homoeroticism, M/M, Podfic Available, Small Towns, Strangers, The rest of OT3 are background characters, Underground boxing ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-13 00:08:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17477567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld
Summary: They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.





	Fistiana

**Author's Note:**

> For such a short work I have so many people to thank: [Jx](http://jiksax.tumblr.com/) for her strong sense of language and support and reading my rubbish drafts and helping me mold it into what I knew it could be, [gettingaphdinmomo](http://gettingaphdinmomo.tumblr.com/) for making everything better, always, [myownsparknow](http://myownsparknow.tumblr.com/) for helping me lessen my doubt about this whole thing and nail down the details that needed to come through, [jumperlouis](http://jumperlouis.tumblr.com/) for pulling through as my boxing beta and thus helping me realize the direction I wanted to go for this, and last but certainly not least, [Lauren](http://fullonlarrie.tumblr.com/) and [Eli](http://gaycousinlarry.tumblr.com/) for their endless support. I love all of you and I can’t thank you enough for telling me that I _could_ in fact do what I set out to do and helping me get there.
> 
>  
> 
> [Podfic is available here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671293)

He appeared in the early evening. 

Men who passed through their shithole town turned up to Fight Night often enough that no one paid him any mind when he dragged one of the three folding chairs leaning up against the rough wall of the shuttered stockyards over to the makeshift ring. He sat, elbows on his knees. Dark scruff covered his cheeks, surrounded his full lips, and hid the sharp angle of his jawline. 

The locals watched his watching as one fight after another was called. 

The gym was stifling the way it always was on Thursdays. Along the back wall stood an industrial-sized fan one of the guys had picked up somewhere. It had conked out months ago; now they made do in the humid, cinderblock room.

Louis’ sweat-damp shirt stuck to his chest and back as he watched the matches. He was unofficially the sole referee, making sure Harry’s pent up aggression didn’t get out of hand and that no one took cheap shots at Niall’s bum knee. It was the only thing they had to look forward to, the only thing that broke up the monotony of their lives.

Louis kept one eye on the stranger all night, but was focused on Harry’s bloody knuckles when the guy spoke for the first time.

“I call next.”

The din of activity around the room quieted immediately. Louis and Liam’s eyes met. Louis had years of experience interpreting Liam’s looks. Louis was the same size as the stranger, and there wasn’t anyone else left to fight. He’d be up next and Liam would stand watch. It made Louis’ gut clench. 

Louis turned to give the stranger a single nod.

He cleaned and bandaged Harry’s hands first, slow and careful the way his mom had taught him—bless her soul—so Harry would be healed good enough for next Thursday. Harry grunted “done,” as though that was his call, and once he was fully bandaged, he gave Louis a soft tap on the side of his head.

The guy was still sitting on the fold-up chair, watching him.

Louis peeled his shirt off, draping it over the PVC pipe sticking out of a five-gallon bucket of cement which marked the corner of the ring, and gave the stranger another nod. It had been weeks since he had fought. Weeks since he had last recklessly touched somebody. The crowd gathered in a loose circle to watch. Louis handed his whistle and stopwatch to Liam, his heart already kicking in anticipation.

The stranger stood and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a chest and sleeves full of art. He was nothing but tattooed skin, tendons and lean muscle. His boots and socks were removed next, leaving him in jeans that threatened to slide off his hips. The top of his grey Fruit of the Loom underwear was exposed.

They met in the center of the ring and bumped their bare knuckles together.

“Louis.”

“Zayn.” 

Then they went back to their corners.

Louis flexed and fisted his hands, bobbing side to side. He threw a few punches into the air, reminding his body what it needed to do. The small oscillating fan propped on a nearby chair did fuck all to cool the place down. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his neck; he lifted his shoulder to rub it away. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zayn doing the same. 

The whistle sounded, signaling Liam had started the three minute countdown.

Zayn walked toward him. His body was compact, like Louis’, and Louis tensed, trying to get a read on what kind of fighter he was.

They danced toward each other, light on their toes, their eyes locked. Zayn’s were hard, but his long lashes softened the ferocity. Louis glanced down to where Zayn’s fist protected his mouth, to the hunch of his shoulders and the angle of his torso. He was quick and clean in his movements, focused and precise.

Louis’ heart thumped at the prospect of a matched fight.

Zayn attacked first, a bold lunge forward and two quick jabs just to paw at him. Louis took the hits easily, turning his shoulder and rolling through them. Zayn tested the waters with gentler hits that reacquainted Louis to the feeling of another man’s skin against his own. Louis got a few hits in too, a hook and a jab, a feint and an uppercut, a tease and a blow, little plays to see how far he could push his opponent. 

Zayn gave a small smirk when Louis miscalculated a blow and lost his footing for a bare moment. Zayn countered immediately, Louis’ blood rushing as he blocked him with a strong check hook. Zayn fell back, surprised or pleased. Louis couldn’t quite tell.

It took barely a moment before they met again, hard and fast, Zayn’s knuckles slipping across the sweat on Louis’s shoulder. Louis leveraged his weight to get Zayn where he wanted him. Zayn felt solid against him, the slightness of his muscles belying how strong he was as Louis punched him in the stomach.

Liam grunted and they disentangled briefly, sizing each other up, before crashing back together, ducking and weaving, attacking and defending. Louis would get a few sharp jabs in, Zayn would back him against the rope with a sharp combination, the two of them danced around the center of the ring as they wove in and out of each other’s space. Louis ducked and rocked one way as Zayn tried to get him with a jab; Zayn’s punches hit air. Louis smirked, threw a jab, cross, and hook of his own, toe-to-toe with his scrappy adversary.

Zayn walked Louis backwards, matching him step for step, until the ropes dug hard into Louis’ back. Zayn pressed his weight against him, leaving little room for Louis to move. 

Louis looked him in the eye, jutted his chin up and grinned. “That all you got?”

Zayn snarled. With a forceful right hook, he mashed himself closer to Louis, forcing the air out of Louis’ chest. Louis felt Zayn’s hard nipples as their bare, sweaty chests pressed together. He could smell the sharp tang of Zayn’s deodorant losing the fight against sweat and activity.

Zayn’s mouth hovered inches from his own as they clinched each other. For a brief, mad moment, Louis didn’t know whether to snap at him or pull him closer.

Louis landed the next hit, connecting to the side of Zayn’s stomach. Zayn moaned and Louis hit him again, gentler, a caress down the side of his head to keep him off balance before Louis ducked down and hooked him again with his left hand.

Their chests heaved as they tried to catch their breath. Zayn’s inked torso shone with sweat as Louis’s eyes swept over it, taking in the red wolf at the center of his collarbones, the wings extending out to his shoulders. Louis drew his eyes back upward, to where Zayn was looking at him.

The room was boiling hot, steam rose from their bodies and condensation fogged up the grimy windows.

Louis went back on the offensive. He blinked away the sweat in his eyes, launching himself at Zayn’s body with everything he had. Wherever he could get a punch in—the curve of Zayn’s shoulder, his flexed pec, or his undefended, hard abs—was fair game. Zayn gave back as hard as he got. Louis’ body ached in the very best way. They both got a flurry of punches in, then each took a step back, got a fresh breath, and they dove back in at the same time. 

It didn’t take long for Zayn to get Louis against the ropes again. He felt Zayn’s hot breath on his neck, heard him panting in his ear, felt his sweat-slick body pressed tight against his. Louis tried to find open spots, the dip in his ribs, the junction of neck and shoulder, where he could press in. Despite being caged in by Zayn’s body, crushed and held down, Louis felt powerful. 

His exhilaration was soundtracked by the dull thuds of their fists and the distant sound of the boisterous crowd watching them. With Zayn’s head so close, Louis inhaled the heady scent of his musky shampoo.

Louis ducked at the same time Zayn juked and Louis’ mouth made contact right below one of the tattooed wings on Zayn’s chest. Louis licked the saltiness off his lips. 

With a bout of infighting, the skin on Louis’ knuckles finally cracked and gave way. The slide of blood mixed with sweat as Louis ground his fist into Zayn’s body. They panted, exhausted, against each other, the rhythm of their breaths matched.

The whistle sounded when their time was up, but Louis wasn’t done. He shook his head, nudging Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn’s face twitched and he put his fists back up. Louis heard Liam’s shouted warning as though it was coming from far away.

Their bodies connected again, fists and skin and breath as they traded blows in front of the amped crowd. Liam shouted at them from the ropes to stop, but Louis wasn’t prepared to surrender.

Zayn backed him into a corner, the pipe dug into his back, and this time, with the way Zayn worked his body, and the force he still had in his blows, Louis knew he wasn’t going to get the upper hand. Louis’ whole body felt wrung out. He wrestled against Zayn’s hold, trying fruitlessly to get a punch between them.

“Tap out,” Zayn hissed between clenched teeth; his lip had split open. “Or I’ll have to mess up that pretty face of yours.”

Louis let out a shaky breath, weighing his options and struggling weakly against Zayn’s hold. He licked his lips, glancing between Zayn’s wild eyes and his parted lips. “You tap out.”

Liam had stopped shouting. The room had to be a thousand degrees. Zayn slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Tap out,” he said again. “I’ve got you cornered.”

Louis swallowed thickly, swallowing his pride in the same move. He tapped his fingers twice against Zayn’s side.

Zayn waited a beat, his mouth close and partially open with the tip of his tongue sticking out—the cocky fucker.

They separated with a hard shove, and Zayn went back to his chair across the room, where someone, Niall maybe, tossed him a water bottle. Zayn opened his mouth wide and gulped greedily.

Louis caught the look on Liam’s face, the arched eyebrow and the unreadable frown. 

Louis pulled out his own water bottle. He swished the stale water around his mouth and swallowed down the bad taste it left. Zayn still had eyes on him when he stuffed the bottle back into his bag. 

Louis cradled his busted hand and eyed the men still lingering near the door as Liam unplugged the fan and set it on the floor in the corner. 

Zayn stood, then ambled over to where Louis was slowly putting his shirt back on. Liam was across the room, stacking the chairs against the wall.

“You got a place to stay tonight?” Louis asked, swiping at a bruise he could feel forming on his side.

Zayn’s dark eyes stayed on him for a long moment. “Not especially.”

Louis lowered his voice, hoping they were out of earshot. “You can bunk at mine,” he murmured. “If you want. Or need.”

Zayn glanced around the mostly empty room, the tip of his tongue licking the cut in his lip. Louis kept his eyes on him. Louis saw the Adam’s apple bob in Zayn’s throat before he gave a sharp, quick nod.

Louis worked his feet into his shoes as he waited. He nodded goodbye to the last of the stragglers, and finally to Liam.

Then they walked out, closing the heavy door behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites. I'm not currently allowing translations either. Thank you for respecting my wishes.
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's a shareable tumblr link if you enjoyed it. xx](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com/post/183004302743/fistiana-zouis-2k-not-rated-they-met-in)  
> [Here's a twitter link if you enjoyed it, and want to retweet!](https://twitter.com/Lou_and_Haz_AF/status/1163822420957913088?s=20)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fistiana [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671293) by [YesIsAWorld_PodFic (YesIsAWorld)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/pseuds/YesIsAWorld_PodFic)




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